Asymptote
by bluelilywater
Summary: "Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad." – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Hyperion (Sequel to Anything But Potatoes; rated T, but contains sensitive material) COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **_prepare yourselves  
><em>

* * *

><p><span>Start<span>

Uzuki climbed the stairs two steps at a time, almost tripping over herself; her muscles complained, but her mind was an unresponsive mass of yellows and reds. She stumbled up to the grey door, expecting for it to be locked when she tried the handle. It gave under her with a click and she fell into the room, gasping, "Kariya, guess what—"

Her words died in her throat as she took in his apartment.

For a brief moment, she believed that she had run into some other place. At first glance, it looked like some rich man's flat that came with a daily cleaning lady. As she took it all in, however, there were things that were definitively _hi_s. There was a whole, short bookcase with dozens of CD's nestled on the shelves. The far wall had the black and white landscape panorama spanning across it. His pine green couch was exactly where it always was. Down the hall, she could see the color-splattered black walls of his bedroom.

The difference was that it was spotlessly neat – almost empty it was so clean. She had never known the color of his wood floors, precisely, or that his carpet was so nice. The quality of his apartment had been a complete mystery to her. In the two years she had known him and from the first time she had followed him into his apartment, it had always looked like it had been struck by a tornado. It still smelled like coffee, but it was a shyer layer under the bright and thick scents of fresh linen and lemon wood polish.

This was more of a shock than anything else she had encountered, but her eyes eventually focused on the owner and reason for such a transformation. He had not even seemed to move when she had jolted in.

Kariya had his face hidden in his arms, knees pulled up to his chest. He looked small up against the wall before his kitchenette.

"Kariya," she prodded, and approached slowly, sliding to a sit next to him. He shifted, unfurling so one leg was out and his head was tipped against the wall. His eyes were closed. "You cleaned without me," she said, somewhat insulted. Her eyes searched the room for anything significant, but knowing that Kariya was hardly sentimental. If he were to keep something, it would be important. He _did_ have shelves lined with more CD's than she had ever known he owned.

"All week," he murmured, voice faint and exhausted. He hadn't sounded like _that _earlier. She recognized, then, that she hadn't set one foot inside his apartment since the before the game had started.

"Guess I won't be snooping, then." She lowered her voice to match his.

When he didn't respond, she felt herself getting upset – not just because he was ignoring her, either.

"Are you okay?"

"Not really," he croaked. Finally, he moved, lifting his hands to press them to his eyes. "Oh, God," he groaned, and his breath hitched.

Her heart sank and her fingers pulsed barely in an instinct to pull his hands away. "What's wrong?"

"I don't..." There was a pause before he scrambled to his feet and reached up onto the kitchen counter. When he dropped back down next to her, he held a small ink drawing that looked so old it must have been from his original time. There was a woman posed in it, light-haired, petite, but sharp in the area around her eyes. "I don't remember who this is, anymore," he said, sounding detached and dull as if he were suppressing a tight line of distress down his vocal cords.

"She can't be that important, if you can't remember her," Uzuki reasoned, taking the picture gently from his hands and looking closer.

A small, vulnerable sound broke out from his throat. He forced a deep breath before saying, "No. If I forgot her, she's important."

Uzuki shook her head, now trying to conceal a smile, because if a picture was all it was, then she needn't worry. "Don't be so dramatic, Kariya. You've lived for a long time. Forgetting stuff is natural."

He was very quiet, and it took her longer than just a few seconds to look at him. He had taken his eyes off the picture and was wearing a face that she had never seen to its full extent before. She had seen a bit of something like it when she had asked about his family. He looked hurt, but not in a personal way. He looked far more like someone had stabbed him. Or had mortally injured a friend and he was reminiscing in how it had shattered his soul. Good God, it was heartbreaking.

Uzuki grimaced. "I'm sorry, Kariya," she finally said, because clearly what she had already said was exactly what she shouldn't have. With her words, he took a deep breath and it brought back some of the life in his eyes.

"Don't be," he said and smiled. He still looked fragile. "What did you come in for?"

She couldn't resist the pride that rose up within her. Whatever he was dealing with flew out of her brain. "I've been promoted to Officer!"

He really did smile, this time, pushing all of his pain to the side to make room for her. "You don't say!"

"I _do_ say," she replied cheekily, practically glowing. "They called me in soon after you left."

He nodded, like that seemed right to him, then stopped himself. "What did they say?"

"Well it wasn't so much of a 'they'," she said, twiddling her thumbs. "Just a he, and he said he'd heard I was aspiring to be an officer."

"From whom?"

Uzuki shrugged and he sat back, stretching both his legs out. He continued with, "That wasn't the only reason, was it? Your score was good enough?"

Her smile grew bigger and she occupied herself a moment with taking off her sandals and wriggling her toes. She had painted them turquoise to go against her theme of purple and white. "Apparently!" she quipped, and caught him smiling a real smile. He seemed genuinely happy for her.

"Probably means they've assigned me a new rookie, then, if we even have one," he said after he looked away and something within her stuttered a little. Her grin wavered, but she attempted to pick it back up again weakly.

"You're still a Harrier," she clarified, and tried to look like that wasn't a kick to the stomach. She watched steadily, however, when he snapped his fingers a few times and gave a heavy sigh. That had to mean something.

"Probably will be until the end of time," he said.

"Probably?"

His eyes focused on hers. "If I get erased, that won't exactly be an option."

She winced at the idea, then joked, "Maybe I should be worried about leaving you, if you're talking about erasure."

He pulled at his hair, then raked it back, and for the first time, she could see it was lighter at the roots. She couldn't tell much, but it seemed like a nice color. With the combination of his brown eyes, it could even come off as striking in a softer way. "You don't need to. I can erase myself without your help." He smiled with humor and she rolled her eyes as her back settled farther against the wall. She hadn't meant for them to touch, but there she was with her arm against his. Once again, she was subjected to a first-hand experience of knowing how warm he could be. This time, upon noticing, she voiced her observation.

"I just noticed," she said, even if it was a lie, "that you are really warm _all the time._"

A funny noise came from between his lips as he thought about it. "I've noticed, myself," he agreed, nodding. "Just try me with a fever, though."

Her laugh was cut short when he reached across her suddenly, picking up the photo she had set aside. He placed it on his thigh and pursed his lips. With another sigh that felt like it could reach the very core of him, he pulled out his wallet and slipped it in there neatly. Just the thought he was doing anything _neatly_ of all things registered badly in her mind, and she found herself asking, "So why all this?" She gestured to his apartment and for once, saw that he had a spectacular view. "And did you get the AC fixed? It's actually a decent temperature in here."

Hesitating more than she had thought he would, he said, "I didn't have a lot to do around here." Then he nodded, though, and was a lot more quick to respond to the second question. "Yeah. AC's fixed. It was mostly just that I hadn't changed the filter. Now I know though, so..." He smiled and slouched down the wall. "...all is well." Neglecting to change the filter was also expensive- he was an idiot.

"Except you have what looks like a sleep deficit of sixty months," she said, taking in his tired face.

"Sixty, huh?" His soft grin was drifting. "I can work with that."

She sniffed and moved to get up, telling him, "Well I'll leave you to have that affair with your bed, then." Her sandals slipped back on, she finally smiled back at him. "We've got a few days before the new week starts, so that'll give you plenty of time."

He flicked a wave at her. "Don't stress out too much." She managed a laugh and said, "See you later."

* * *

><p>As soon as the door closed, his face fell. He curled back into himself and let the parts he had pushed away go through his system. He could have used her a little bit longer, sitting there. She always shoved his issues onto the backburner whether he wanted to make himself miserable over them or not. Knowing that, he focused on her, and not some other lady in a dead photo.<p>

So he forced himself to smile, and breathe, and forget the Conductor. He could get over this. He could, and he always had.

Getting to his feet, he finally catered to his physical needs. Even if he was mortally dead, eating wasn't something he could ignore. Knowing this, he took out a bowl and spooned some leftovers into it, tossing it into the microwave. He bit his spoon, leaning against the counter and telling himself to some effect that there was nothing wrong with him. Denial occasionally worked. His bowl turned in slow circles, the microwave buzzing like an overheating computer. There was a subtle knock on his door just as he was taking his stew out. He didn't know who he was expecting, but it was anyone but who was actually standing there.

"Er, hellaow?" he managed awkwardly around the spoon still in his mouth. "Dyew you—" Kariya took away the spoon. "—need something?"

"I was just told to come see you to – uh – train."

"Tough luck," Kariya said blandly. "It's between the weeks. I don't work overtime. Especially for punks like you."

"Hey, look," said Spud, putting his hands up. "I'm not here to force myself upon you. I want to know what the heck I'm doing, though."

"The Conductor didn't explain anything?"

"Not really."

Kariya laughed and muttered, "Prat." before saying, "Alright. Come in."

Also, the last thing he was ever expecting was the big grin he received from Spud in response. Completely caught off guard, he cracked back a smile and wondered faintly what hell he was being put through this time.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **_Welcome back, Spud._

* * *

><p>Chapter 2<br>(technically)

Kariya hadn't even bothered to offer food to the kid. Spud had entered the room and evidently said the first thing that came to his mind. "It's neat."

"Not usually," Kariya muttered, and picked up his stew so he could enjoy it. Somehow, some person or other always got in the way of his need to eat. He swallowed some of the thick broth and said, "So tell me your story, first. Not the whole thing, mind you." Kariya meant it. He had little intention or interest in knowing all about Spud's life. He was prepared, to some degree, however, to have his life story shoved down his throat anyway. Uzuki had taught him that much.

Spud still stood where he was by the door, looking the most relaxed Kariya had ever seen him. Granted, he looked like he felt a tad awkward. He couldn't help but notice, however, how Spud didn't seem as small, now. He appeared like he owned himself, and wasn't taking everything in him out on the world. Not for the first time, he wondered what had been taken from him to make him so uptight before. Certainly not something worth living for.

The boy took a breath and leaned heavily against the wall. Of all things, he smiled again, then laughed. "I'm sorry about this. What's your name?"

Kariya gave him an odd, thrown-off look. "Koki Kariya."

"Right. Well, I didn't have a home to go back to—" Now he was intrigued. Not to mention that Spud was getting straight to the point. "—and being a Reaper? Well, it didn't look too bad."

"It's not," Kariya agreed, disappearing back into the kitchen to wash out his bowl. A good ¾ of the dish still held food, but he couldn't make himself stomach it.

"So now," Spud appeared in the kitchen wall gap, pressing his palms into the ledge. "I'm kind of just wondering what I really just got myself into." That sounded familiar.

Kariya swallowed, turning the water off, and decided to ask right off the bat. "What was your entry fee?"

Intrigued, Spud's heavily-freckled features relaxed from a smile. "Why? Does it affect what this is like?"

"Maybe," Kariya admitted. "But not directly. I'm mostly just curious."

Drumming his fingers on the ledge, Spud wrinkled his nose. "They took away my ability to feel joy." For a brief moment, he looked like he was sinking into himself, disappearing between all his freckles. _Depression._

A disgruntled noise started from Kariya's throat. Honestly, he found that revelation disturbing – mostly because he couldn't believe they would go that far. It explained a lot, and also merited a whole lot more respect than he was prepared to give upon knowing what his fee was. "That sucks," he told him and again with complete honesty.

"But it feels really great, now," Spud replied. "I can breathe."

"No kidding." He dried his hands on a towel and rolled his shoulders, trying to imagine what that must have been like. Awful, he was sure. Evidently, Spud had defaulted to anger just to get him through the week at all. Otherwise he might not have been with him at that moment. "What about you?"

Kariya's head snapped up before he could gather his bearings. It was perfectly fair that he had asked, but it didn't make it any more of a desirable topic.

For once, Kariya hesitated in shooting the question down or sliding out of it completely. Spud wouldn't know anything more than Kariya had survived and gotten it back. He had, and that's all an entry fee was. The knowledge that Spud was hardly anyone significant helped.

He baulked, and closed his eyes. Baby steps.

First step:

"My photographic memory, specifically." Kariya gave a weak laugh. "Not as bad as yours."

Spud, however, still winced as if he disagreed. "I dunno. That must have been really irritating. But what do you mean 'specifically'?"

"Nothing." He shrugged. "But you're right. It totally threw me for a loop."

It felt as if time was stretching like an elastic sheet being pulled in a every direction away from him. There felt to be a strange gap in his lower chest after giving away a permanent part of himself so easily. It felt alien, and almost wrong, but he wasn't totally sure if it was the wrong decision.

Spud laughed, which was a surprising and pleasant sound. He put a lot of himself into it. Time snapped out of its elasticity, firm once again as Spud sobered himself up like he hadn't just given of a laugh that practically filled the room. He said, "So you valued that most, huh?"

Again, Kariya shrugged, because the evidence pointed in that direction. "Ditto."

"Me?" Spud smiled. "Optimism and pretending like my life didn't suck was the best I could do, under the circumstances. It would get me in trouble a lot, though."

"Homeless?"

"Naw." He was thoughtful for a second, then his smile was back – just smaller. "No. I was orphaned. No name, no family, and absolutely no one interested."

"Spud sounds like a name to me," Kariya said, raising an eyebrow.

His grin was now expected, and Kariya thought it twisted and ironic how the Game had turned the boy so far around that he ended up opposite of who he really was. "They had to call me something. Called me Spud because I hated them."

"The other kids?" Kariya asked, confused.

"No. Potatoes. They're awful." He shuddered, thought about it, then shuddered again. "Seriously."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Kariya laughed, rubbed at his eyes, and sighed. "Right. Well, I'll call you Spud unless you don't deserve it. Then you'll just be 'asshole'."

Spud, grinning, said, "I don't have a reason to irritate you yet, but I'm not saying it won't happen."

"Just forewarning."

"Got it."

* * *

><p>The fact was, Uzuki wasn't used to being alone by choice. Also, as she looked around her apartment, it was a few measures more cluttered than Kariya's. That was significantly bothersome.<p>

As she puttered around her rooms, cleaning things up, she caught herself constantly switching between giddy with pride and almost miserable. She knew he had that effect on her – especially since she had felt exactly the same way when he was experiencing nightmares. Sad Kariya just didn't sit well with her. She thought, perhaps, she could deal with angry, frightening Kariya better than she was handling things now.

"He's depressed," she groaned, and still felt miserable even when she buried her face in her pillow. She couldn't understand how he _could_ be. This was only the second time in the two years she'd known him that he had been depressed and it made her feel incredibly guilty. He didn't deserve sadness. In fact, sadness didn't deserve _him_. She wanted to help somehow, and yet she had a feeling anything she could do wouldn't be enough. He wasn't communicative, and she figured she'd never find out what the real issue was. It had to be something more than just that photo. Maybe everything he said was figurative, or symbolic. Did not remembering her tie to losing her, somehow? Or something? "I don't know!" she cried to her pillow. "I really just don't!"

Reaperhood wasn't supposed to be depressing. There was something easier about knowing you had an indefinitely limitless period of life ahead of you. If you were skilled enough to stay the first dozen weeks, you were nearly guaranteed to survive the rest. You erased some things and got paid a reasonable amount for your efforts. You erased enough of the players, and you could live a little bit longer in a faux life. In all senses of the word except in theory, however, being a Reaper was life. They lived just as much of a life as everyone else on the RG. The only difference, in truth, was that they had control over when their lives ended.

With the small exception of Sakuraba's session.

So, unless someone important to him died (and even then he knows there's always another chance), he lost something precious (though really, he just wasn't sentimental in the least, and he would get over something like that), or he was experiencing some intense trauma that was triggered by lack of sleep and excessive cleanliness, she really was drawing a blank. There were nightmares, of course, but she figured she would have known about it earlier, even if she did catch him in the middle of... Something. A mope-session.

Regardless, she felt like crap. She felt like crap for as long as she could stay awake.

* * *

><p>"So you're what class?"<p>

"Support." Spud stretched his arms above his head and came down with little bunny-ear-shaped quotes for fingers. "'Until I learn the ropes'."

Kariya balanced back in his chair. "I think they might be promoting everyone, then seeing if they can scrape up some new Supports in the next few sessions."

"Why not just draw from our session?" Spud queried. "The other team? They were pretty good."

"They might have." Kariya shrugged and picked up his iPod, unlocking it and flipping through the apps. He had almost nothing on there except for an overwhelmingly long list of music. Give a man enough time and he can collect as much as he darn well pleases.

Spud watched him, prioritizing his questions according to necessity. Kariya had an obligation to tell him some essential facts about the game, but if he could sneak some other questions in... He was curious. Not nearly in the same way as Uzuki, but curious all the same. "So where's your girlfriend at?"

The chair legs came down with an uneven clatter, Kariya pulling a face that was nigh unreadable. "What do you have against her?"

Easily, Spud envisioned a girl in ripped jeans and another with lurid blue hair, jeering about everything from his cowlicks to his knees. "She carried herself like the girls that would put me down in school." His perpetual smile twisted a little at the corners. "Had I not been in my condition, I don't think I would be so crude. I don't take it back, though. I wasn't really even that sorry."

"I could tell," Kariya replied flatly, running a hand through his hair like the subject made him feel tired. He placed his iPod on the table with a sigh. "She's not my girlfriend."

"You like her."

This time, Kariya made direct eye contact and gave him the sort of smile that was halfway to dangerous. "I don't believe that's any of your business."

Spud grinned back, like he knew he'd get a response no matter how many times Kariya pushed him back. "She likes you."

Kariya laughed, imagining how ludicrous that assumption actually was, then groaned. "God. Shut up, will you?"

With that, he chose not to step too far over the line. With his cocky smile still in place, he finally said, "So, what am I supposed to do? Lay the ground rules out for me." He added, "Master," for good measure.

"Don't push it."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants willing to be dethroned." – James Joyce, _Ulysses_

Spud spent a small fraction of the rest of his session money on a hotel room for that night. He had full intentions of getting his own apartment the next day. Kariya had expressed that there would always be perks to being dead, but finding a good apartment wasn't one of them. It had taken years for him to move out of his first place (he called it The Drainpipe, but Spud didn't think he was being literal) and find the one he had now. Spud had to admit that Kariya's apartment was quality. He had seemed to be quite attached to it, and Spud wouldn't be shocked if he had a full-blown relationship with it. Like:

"Hi, Phil. How's your AC feeling today? Better?"

Spud gave a small laugh, kicking off his shoes and taking a good look at the bed he had just rented for a night. Sleep sounded so immensely appealing just then, given the fact that he hadn't for a week. Getting knocked unconscious just wasn't the same. So he enjoyed the feeling of being engulfed in a comforter four times more honest to its name than any other one he had experienced.

Cocooning himself tightly in the fresh linens, Spud tried to imagine Kazutaka alive and with his family. For a minute, he wondered how the return to life worked. Did the people still alive forget that he'd ever been dead? Regardless, he genuinely felt joy for him – it filled his chest like a brisk swallow of water after a weeks of being parched. It felt like the cold light of a diamond that refracted to the very ends of his limbs and acted like bubbly, sweet champagne behind the sinuses of his nose. The joy, more than anything, slowly ebbing its way back into the angry shell of a sixteen-year-old like a shy puppy licking at his fingers, was enough to tide him over several centuries of bad apartments alone.

Kazu had deserved a real life, and Spud was glad, despite the twists and the _shots to the gut_ that the game had personified, that he was able to receive it..

His partner had been taken by leukemia even with a high chance of survival. 85% and he had still passed a day short of his eighteenth birthday. The one thing that had kept him from dissolving into the anger, depression and misery (because at some point, it had become clearest to him, out of anyone, that "chance" was an ugly creature) was his ability to keep his head. That was what had gotten him through even the worst parts – partially for the sakes of those that he loved.

Thus, that is exactly what the game had taken away from him. He had been completely incapable of dealing with almost anything at all. Wearing blue, for instance, smothered him in a panic that Spud just refused to put him through (he reckoned it had to do with hospital scrubs, but he couldn't know for sure). Granted, most were odd things, but in one of his calmer moments, Kazu had expressed how, in a detached way, 'this' had been what he needed. Yes, he had been calm and collected and didn't make anything incessantly difficult for anyone, but at the same time, he had pushed all his anxieties away for the sake of others. A person had a right and a duty to himself to face and deal with things like that. Spud hoped he came out better for it, because as helpful as the game might have been, it was equally as frightening.

His fingers clenched around the covers and he let himself roll with a wave of feelings. He was still angry. He was still yearning to rip his own skin off in the bare fractures that he had barely started to attempt to heal between his newfound joy. However, never were the things he felt during the game unfounded, and he had to deal with whatever he had suppressed just as much as Kazu had had to. That much was evident to him, now. He had every right to feel depressed; to recognize that freed him, but freedom was not to be abused. Regardless, freedom looked a lot like pure darkness behind closed eyelids and seemed a lot like his weightless limbs. It felt a lot like a smile that had little business being at the corners of his mouth, and he knew in the morning that freedom was the reason for dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p>Fear was not sleeping at all. Kariya downed his cup of coffee, coughing when it burned his throat, and moved freely over to his wide windows. His throat blistered like raw flakes of acute, intricate pain, but there was something bland about it. About the bitter, burning coffee. The air smelled distinctly like cleanliness, but the diluted colors, slow time, slate walls between him and the next thing, penetrated space like a drowned body suspended in thick, flavor-less wine. Despite the bright sunrise bursting through the seams between buildings, the walls and furniture were grey with fatigue.<p>

A knock on the door rippled through the sludge his Soul had created of an atmosphere, and for a moment, he didn't move. One reason was that he had discarded his shirt hours ago and to retrieve it required a lengthier effort in going to his bedroom. He eyed a blanket thrown over his couch, glanced down at his pale chest, and opted to wrap himself in the blanket.

"Oh," he muttered when he opened the door and saw Uzuki. Her tenacious look immediately turned befuddled at his choice of garb.

"Did the AC get away from you?" she asked.

"No, you caught me half-naked." He tightened his hold on the blanket and couldn't help but fake a suspicious glare. She pinked and looked somewhere past him.

"My bad."

He managed a tired smile, more due to the thought that she seemed more embarrassed now than she had been when she had seen him stark naked. Perhaps it had been the shock. "Your timing is impeccable. By now, I should be expecting it."

With a small sniff, she chanced a more confident look at him. He knew by how her expression changed again exactly what she was thinking.

"Are you sick?" Her hands twitched for a moment, as if to touch him. His stomach churned as if he was close to being so. He barely stopped himself from swallowing down his windpipe whatever fluid was in his coffee cup and letting it sallow, blistering, in his lungs.

"I might be," he said slowly, and moved to the side to let her in. He was startled when she pressed the back of her wrist to his forehead, cool and dry. She was up on her toes with her eyebrows pinched together until a frustrated sound issued from the back of her throat and she withdrew.

"If I could count on you having a normal temperature for once in your life, I might say you have a fever," she told him, frowning, and he felt a distinct rush of déjà vu. Which was horribly ironic, in a way.

"I think you'd know if I had a fever," he replied gently, then held up a finger. "Either way, I'd like to put on a shirt." Retreating, his blanket swished behind him like a heavy blue cloak. First to the kitchen to set aside his mug, then to his bedroom. His choice movement unsettled the walls around him like tectonic plates shifting, sending bare, earnest tendrils of effort spinning through the air, giving off some sort of odd, broken energy.

Uzuki was never attuned to that sort of thing.

She called after him through his closed door, "You don't have to act like such a virgin! I've already seen you naked!"

Her words made him pause in the act of pulling on a fresh shirt as they thudded to a stop at the door. He fought the quick rush of blood invading his neck and face and jerked the shirt over his head. "Doesn't someone have the right to act as they are?" he replied after some quick thinking and before the realization that his pants hardly matched his top. In the moment that it took him to struggle with the idea of changing just for the sake of style, he almost broke his nose on his bedroom door. Instead, it slammed into his shoulder and he gave a strangled sort of yelp.

"You actually _are_ a virgin!" Uzuki gasped, poking her head around the door while he rubbed at his shoulder.

"Did I say that?" he shot back, and moved safely out of the wooden door danger zone. He felt as if he might have bruised.

"It was implied," she insisted, blinking owlishly at him. Her pink hair was pinned away from her eyes in slick little braids, and he thought, under different circumstances, the sight would have bothered him somehow.

"Well which would you rather hear? That I have failed sexually or that I haven't?" he asked irritably. He wasn't fond of being hit by doors, let alone talking about his romantic life in any way, shape, or form.

Stepping into his bedroom, she rounded on him with, "Firstly, being a virgin is not a failure. It's fairly admirable. Secondly, I'd rather hear the truth."

His eyes flickered over to the blanket crumpled on the ground and he bent to pick it up. It hadn't been washed in several months, he realized. "Then I'd better tell you I don't know," he said stiffly, bundling the heavy cloth in his arms and pushing past her. He'd deal with his pants after she left.

Disgruntled, she scoffed and followed after him, saying, "Either you're lying or being cruel."

"Or," he said slowly, tossing his cargo over the couch – he'd clean it later, "I like things to be private when it comes to my _very_ personal life." Kariya stared her down for as long as he could keep himself together. If she had lived a few decades longer, she would have gone blind, he was sure of it. Her irises were spectacularly light.

"Then I get to decide what you are," she told him, and he blinked.

"And?" A certain wariness settled in his chest where everything typically alchemized into discomfort around her if it stewed long enough.

"You're a virgin."

Kariya managed to force down a flush and said, "A couple hundred years and I still haven't gotten a blowjob. What a sad life I lead." Aiming toward the kitchen, he moved around her, not totally clear on what his purpose was. He could feel her behind him like a bright, vigorous light. It was almost instinctual to predict what her response would be, and he wasn't disappointed.

"Waiting would just make your first time that much more special."

He played along, even though he knew that what she had just said was utter bullcrap on many levels. "There's only so long you can wait, and according to you, I've waited far outside the average." The black coffee mug he had left on the counter bore fingerprints that he couldn't help but reach for and rub away. He didn't meet Uzuki's eyes as his thumbs swiped at the traces. It wasn't much of an issue until she didn't respond for over a minute.

Those pale eyes just stared off past his apartment walls, far away from where he was. Mildly disgruntled, he felt obligated to pursue a different topic. "I think I'll take up a job again." That got her attention back on him, eyes narrowed in on his long fingers wrapped around the black porcelain.

"But working out a schedule is a nightmare. And since when has more work appealed to you?" she reminded him, looking vaguely incredulous.

He leaned against the countertops, bringing up a hand to rub at his throat. "My score's high enough to last me years, but," he paused, tapping the toes of his shoes against his tiled floors, "my savings don't come close. It's not so much working as..." Kariya fiddled with the mug, then set it down far away from him. A reluctance to go on made him shrug.

"As?" She lifted herself up onto the counter and nudged his thigh with her foot. "Go on."

A wan smile arranged itself onto his face and he shook his head. "Never mind. What are you doing here?"

Now it was Uzuki who seemed reluctant to use her voice. Her hands tugged at the hem of her undershirt, which in turn was beneath a lacy short top. "I just... Wanted to check on you. Yesterday—"

"Was unusual," finished Kariya, and gave her a smile he thought could convince her.

Casting him a sidelong glance, she swung her legs, and frowned.

"I'm feeling fine," he assured her. "Thank y—" His words were severed by the critical look she directed at him. Her eyes told him he was a liar and a coward, and he cringed.

"You look like shit, Koki. Don't lie to me." So she had eyes, at least. No empathy, but she had eyes.

Her words pierced him more than her eyes ever could. That was just how she was.

He choked out a laugh that was desperate and grating, nerves frayed around the pieced-together, haphazard placing of electric panelling that he made up his skin. He didn't want to tell her anything ever or at all. That was how _he_ was. There was something in him that cowered at the thought of her knowing everything and using her pale eyes for pity instead of sharp gazes and laughter. He was afraid that if he gave her one thing, it would unravel and leave him with everything out of place. So he forced out a laugh, and it was desperate and grating. It rubbed against the atmosphere and died in his throat. And after that, he winced. He hovered between jumping and taking a step back. Kariya swept his mind blank. "Zing," he murmured, and smiled like he could only when he wasn't thinking at all. Even despite that, he could hear what was coming.

"What was your entry fee?"

He didn't allow himself to hesitate. "My photographic memory, specifically," he echoed, drawing from his discussion with Spud. Of course, this one would be different.

She was silent, and he did not wish to look at her. "Why was that so difficult to say?" she asked with a sigh.

"I don't know," he said back, and waited for her to call him a liar, or brainless, or judgmental for thinking things mattered. Any one of those things were right on some level.

A sharp pain in his neck made him lurch away from her, and he rightfully summoned an affronted frown. She frowned right back and made a motion to pinch him in the neck again. "You are the biggest drama queen. Would you get out of your own head?"

He tensed and felt the indignity built up in his lungs. "Would it kill you to be sensitive?" His words came out a lot louder than he intended. Inside himself, somewhere, a part of him tripped and fell to his knees. _God, no. Stop. Stop talking. _Peripheral hands scrabbled to restrain his tongue. It was always his words that broke first. _Always._

Her eyebrows shot up and her back stiffened, chin quickly elevating itself as if to ward off a blow. "Maybe it wouldn't if you weren't so stubborn!"

"I like things how they are, thanks." This time, he stared her down effortlessly and shifted his stance. The AC kicked on in a furious sheet of white noise and the breath in his lungs felt refreshing in a rancid, stale way. This wasn't him. _Shouldn't _be him.

"Oh, because it's doing you _so_ much good!"

"Hark," he growled, "a hypocrite's calling!" He knew, as everything spilled straight out of his mouth, that he would regret his words. Somehow, that didn't stop him. Instead, he pushed back the walls inside himself and pushed the surface of him further away until the disconnect made his words taste like bland material that held no worth. Of course, they did.

She jumped off the counter and pushed him hard in the stomach. A startled grunt nearly made it out between his teeth. "What're you so afraid of?" she hissed.

A shadow unfurled from within him, baring its teeth. All that emptiness, after all, held shadows brimming just under his irises. She backed off barely enough to give him room to breathe, but not for his sake. "I don't have to tell you _anything_. You are not a shrink, and neither are you privileged. It is _my_ right and I will tell you when I tell you, if at all."

This retort sent her blushing violently and looking timid behind her momentum. "This has nothing to do with me!"

"Then leave me alone!" The words shot out from underneath the deep layer of his usual, natural detachment. It was the first truly honest thing he had said. For Uzuki, he had always filtered out some emotional sincerity of distant affection, but the truth was, it was a catastrophic mess down there. He kept it hidden for a reason. "Leave!"

On both sides, it had felt as if he had slapped her. There was always a limit to how much antagonism Uzuki Yashiro could resist, and he had reached it. Her eyes filled with tears, and just like that, his blind anger plummeted to the depths of his stomach. The Koki Kariya inside him reclaimed his frame, but still spread thin like a fragile glaze. All the air left him; his pulse felt like a bruise.

"Uzuki—" Painfully lucid now, he could barely even hear himself over his scrambling brain.

Her eyes closed, and inhaling a shaky breath, she said, "Okay. Okay, I get it."

Wincing because he'd bet anything she didn't but still unable to get a grip on his own eloquence, he opened his mouth and inexistant words died there in his throat. Her arms crossed, she turned away and left through the door. Kariya stared at the emptiness she left behind like a blind man.

After several long, inescapable minutes, the AC whispered to a subdued silence and left the air empty.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **_Double update! It would be excellent if you read the previous chapter first._

_As for this... You have the answer you've been waiting for._

_Merry Christmas (or otherwise)_

* * *

><p>Chapter 4<p>

"Time it was  
>And what a time it was, it was<br>A time of innocence  
>A time of confidences<p>

Long ago it must be  
>I have a photograph<br>Preserve your memories  
>They're all that's left you"<p>

― Paul Simon

On January 26, 1900, Koki Kariya took his own life.

A week later, he attended his own funeral. He also broke into a building and committed a petty theft. A century and a few years later, he couldn't remember why.

* * *

><p>Hideaki Ide, second in his class in the year of 1900, was somehow known by 75% of Aoyama Gakuin University within a single year. He was second in his class only to Koki Kariya, and did not mind because Ide held, exclusively, the position of Kariya's best and only friend. On the other hand, Ide had many friends. 74% of the school, in fact. He had been born with a flattering, relaxed confidence in himself and others, and more than a smile for just about everyone. He genuinely laughed <em>with <em>people, and at least got a brightened countenance out of the more reclusive students – Kariya included.

The odd 1% were the ones Ide carefully skirted in the halls, because there would always be those who valued position more than integrity.

Ide, admittedly, spent significantly more time with Kariya than anyone else – simply because there was a level of valuable connection that they'd had for thirteen years that no one else could claim to have. Kariya had found his presence enjoyable from the start, and discovered that it was much easier to talk with Hideaki than anyone he would meet for a century.

In several ways, they were an ideal pair. Kariya's memory was perfect, and Ide instantly understood every subject he encountered. In opposites, Kariya was mildly antisocial, and company brought out the best in Ide. Kariya was methodical, Ide was logical. Their minds matched.

The odd 1%, however, was an issue. On January 25, 1900, it became much more than that.

Ide and Kariya would be victim to a cruelty they never considered. Brutality was the next step for that odd 1% – right after hatred and desperation. Those three things were the impetus for what would destroy Koki Kariya.

The top two students at Aoyama Gakuin University were assaulted by those right below them on their way home from a typical winter day, one block away from Ide's front porch. Hideaki Ide's skull broke open on the concrete after a twenty-second struggle with his attackers. All Kariya had received by the time they noticed the blood was a dislocated arm, broken jaw, and a dozen or so superficial cuts and deep bruises. Koki Kariya never forgot how the 1% ran after they realized that a pool that big only meant one thing.

They left them both on the ground, Kariya choking in the swelling pool of his best friend's blood, and ran. Blind terror and pain screamed like blazing stadium lights inside Koki's skull until everything bled out just as swiftly as Hideaki had.

When Kariya finally found his feet, empty, Ide was dragged all the way to his own front steps before Koki passed out. When his eyes opened on January 26 as the sky turned red and Ide was frozen and stiff, Kariya hung himself from the bare, old Sakura tree using a rickety porch chair and Mrs. Ide's clothesline.

On January 26, 1900, Koki Kariya found himself in the middle of Shibuya, Hideaki Ide helping him up. Kariya's mind was empty, and Ide's confidence was gone.

The game began.

* * *

><p>In the years upon years that the game had been a part of death, there had been very few exceptions to any of the rules the Composers set. Shibuya's Sakuraba was an anomaly in his time. Kariya had been in his.<p>

From the start, it had been clear that despite the accursed entry fees, Kariya and Ide were one of a kind. Even after everything had dropped out of Kariya's head and Ide had to redefine his mettle, they were in sync. But this was not why Kariya's session had been odd.

The seventh day is what did it.

Admittedly, in the realm of the Underground, Kariya was the stronger of the two of them. He could do things with pins that defied expectation. Despite his loss, he still proved to have immense talent for knowing how to do things instinctively. Ide, on the other hand, was the wiring behind everything. Things connected like constellations on abstract ideas for him, and any challenge was a cinch for him. Ingame, it was always tailed by a lack of certainty, but Kariya already trusted his partner.

Still, the seventh day, there was a slip. It was what shifted everything out of balance, and Kariya didn't see it until it was already done. The rest of his life would be shadowed in if's.

Because, apparently, Shibuya liked to come full circle, Ide was erased just as Kariya defeated Game Master Nakai. The rules of the game stated that those that were erased were gone. Hideaki Ide had lost, and Kariya was left to be judged alone.

And Koki Kariya could not get out of his mind that what he had achieved was not a triumph. He _had_ lost.

As soon as he had woken up in the middle of Shibuya, it became apparent that Koki Kariya didn't want to die, and that primarily drove him to win the game – both for himself and for Ide. When he lost, he still didn't want to die, and was convinced that Ide hadn't wanted to either. Thus, there was only ever one option for him. So he stood in front of the Conductor and made a decision that would change everything.

He told the Conductor that as his reward for winning, Ide was to be revived instead of himself.

And the price was worth it.

Kariya gave up his ability to remember what he held most dear in the moments he most desired them.

But he would always remember why.

* * *

><p>Kariya, alone and sitting against the black walls of his bedroom, stared at the ink drawing of Jesse Cole. It was safe to look at her, now, because he couldn't remember anything about her, but he thought maybe she still looked familiar. The truth of the matter was that Kariya looked very little like his mother except for a small shadow of her nose. Sans the nose, Kariya had been stuck with nearly every gene under his grandfather's belt right down to his toes. Those freckles (as light as they were), light complexion, hair, and nose were from Jesse Cole's line, but not from her – and so he thought he saw something familiar in her. As for his father, he had gotten his rich brown eyes and hands. But Koki wouldn't know this.<p>

A hundred years back, his mother's picture had been one of three things he had taken from their house- not exactly for his own sake, but to preserve _something _of his life in concrete evidence. Memories were one thing. Having evidence that once, he had not been alone was another. He had trusted himself not to look at it at the time. He had been selfish in wanting it, because every memory he had ever held of her was now lost to the winds. He should have hidden it better.

To protect his memories, Kariya had mastered the practice of not thinking about his past – not to be reminded of the things he loved when he saw small, familiar enticements of memory. Casual indifference protected him from new things to forget. Such efforts allowed him to maintain the sense of color underneath his life without losing the things that gave it to him.

As for his perpetual life as a Harrier, that had been a part of the price, too. Being a Harrier had been his choice, but to be revived had been not. For him, it was either a life as a Reaper or erasure, and he had wanted to live again – whether it be mortal or not. Being a Harrier was quite like living a normal life excluding the occasional duties, whereas higher stations were a lot more involved in a life Kariya never quite wanted.

For the most part, Kariya was content with his life. The world, however, has an unspoken rule that one person cannot stay content for long.

Kariya only ever had one nightmare, and with a century of that exact nightmare, he was quite used to it. Furthermore, despite what he told Uzuki, he had lied to her. A few came with allowing her to assume certain things, and a few more he made because he didn't remember otherwise, but there were a small selection out of those that he willfully supported. One had been his nightmares. After all, he only ever had one nightmare, and as horrible as it was, it no longer made a difference in his waking hours.

There had never been nightmares. Only dreams. Dreams, however, _were_ the nightmares of his waking hours. Things and people he never wanted to see again walked into them and promptly ceased to exist in his memories as soon as he was lucid. His subconscious was crawling with hidden things that he had loved for so long. He felt the loss like a gunshot wound when he woke up and felt the missing pieces of his heart. They showed up like ants where Uzuki's questions had left crumbs, and he couldn't bare the infestation.

He would never again remember that he had siblings after Uzuki had smiled about her own family. He lost sight of his own house and where it sat between two trees. He forgot who and why he had loved, and that his first kiss had tasted exactly how Uzuki had. He questioned why he dyed his hair orange every time blond showed. He would never remember that there was a man named Kaemon Kariya who enjoyed drawing in his free time. His sixth birthday was lost to time, and Jesse Cole was just an old ink scribble. He had very few memories left to forget.

If only he could figure out something by only _looking _at it. Jesse Cole was achingly familiar.

Abruptly, the silence that he had been maintaining snapped like a thin, brittle, metal rod. He stood up, wiping at his face, and left the apartment empty, Jesse Cole slipped into his wallet.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **_Shorter-ish one for you. _

_If you have troubles remembering Tally, don't worry about it. She was mentioned very briefly in ABP. She's a Support. She's cool. Enough said._

* * *

><p>Chapter 5<p>

"There are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion

That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble

Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret,

Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together."

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

"I h-_hate _him!" Uzuki said loudly, curled up over her knees and sobbing into a different shoulder than she normally would. Tally gently pushed her into a stable sitting position, then silently began running her hands through the pink strands of Uzuki's hair. "He's s-so _damn _selfish!" Hiccuping into her hands, her frame shook as her eyes, brimming with tears, stared out over the tips of her fingers.

Tally thought it best to perhaps not outright remind Uzuki that she, herself, wasn't exactly guiltless. Tally, however, was never quite as cautious as her thoughts would suggest. "You're just ashamed," she suggested.

Uzuki suppressed a strangled wail of misery. "He h-hates m-me! I know it!" she choked, and hot tears dripped down her chin and neck, unheeded. A gasp raked through her body as something seemed to click in her mind, and she whipped around on the couch to stare, wide-eyed, at Tally. "I c-can't live without h-him, Tally."

"Nonsense," she replied gently, and touched the tears away from Uzuki's flushed cheeks. "You'd do just fine on your own. You've got a good head on your shoulders."

Still stunned by the conclusion her own mind had reached, she shook her head hysterically. "N-no! No! _He _was th-the one with all the sense! I-I'm just a – a wreck!"

"That you are," Tally agreed knowingly, "now. You'll get over him."

"I can't!"

"Don't be ridiculous. Besides, he's very fond of you," she urged, and slipped off the couch, taking Uzuki's face between her warm-skinned hands. In comparison, Uzuki's complexion was similar to a ramen noodle's.

"B-but—"

"I'm serious. That man pushed away everyone until he had you. He's friendly with everyone, of course, but never was he close." Tally gazed at her sternly. "When he let you into his life, I'm sure he was fully aware you'd get under his skin eventually."

Uzuki stared back at her in sudden wonder, blue eyes still teary. She sniffed. "What was he like?"

Tally withdrew her hands and sat back on her heels, considering Uzuki carefully. "I'm not as old as him. I've heard that I don't even scratch the surface of how long he's been here."

"The late 1800s," Uzuki said breathlessly. "That's when he was born, and he's… he's nineteen."

Eyebrows shooting up, Tally pushed herself back up onto the couch and shook her head. "Then he multiplies my life over twenty times over."

"But," Uzuki began earnestly, "what was he like before I came?

Tally looked Uzuki over critically. "You would know just as well as I do. You saw him your week."

"But that was just a week!" Uzuki insisted, wiping her eyes with the back of her wrists. She could, in fact, easily recall exactly how he was like during her game session. After all, he had been part of the reason why being a Reaper had looked so appealing. He did very little of holding himself back, at the time, though he hadn't seemed to care. His Noise were different and oddly beautiful while he radiated power. The higher-ups would call it Soul, and his was a steady throb against the skies. The Realground could _feel _him.

"Did he lower his frequency?" Uzuki asked, as she suddenly happened upon sums that she hadn't reached before.

Tally frowned and looked down at her bitten nails. "Evidently. He's much more powerful than anyone gives him credit—" she paused, "— but I don't know how much he does consciously. I'm the wrong person to ask."

"Everyone is," Uzuki muttered miserably. "He doesn't let me know about his past or anything." She folded herself into a pretzel over one of the couch pillows, fingers picking at the bright tassels.

"That doesn't seem right," Tally said, and got to her feet to refill their water, middle fingers tapping on the glasses.

"I _know._" Flopping over the couch arm, she kept her eyes on Tally, pouting.

"No, you don't," Tally replied brusquely as the water rushed against the sides of the crystal cups, "I meant that he seems to be telling you a great deal."

She shook her head, then sat upright again because all the blood had rushed to her head. "Not without twisting his arm."

The water shut off and there was such a palpable silence that Uzuki felt the need to turn around. Tally stared at her, glasses clutched in her hands, as if what was just said was fairly unbelievable.

"What?" Uzuki demanded.

With a deep inhale, Tally set the water on her counter and folded her arms. Their contents slopped over onto the counter and dripped onto the floor at Tally's bare feet. She didn't look like she noticed or cared. "So he doesn't actually want to tell you? Did you give him _any_ other option?"

The pillow was gripped tighter. "Well," Uzuki began, glancing between Tally's critical gaze and the upholstery around the apartment, "not exactly. I deserve to know, though, don't I?"

For a brief moment, Tally looked like she would throw one of the glasses at Uzuki's head, but then burst into a brief bark of laughter. "No wonder he threw you out!"

Affronted, Uzuki got up and coldly replaced the pillow in its niche. It sat comfortably there, serenely judging her. Tally kept talking: "He doesn't want anyone to know about his past. That much is clear. It seems you haven't spared a thought as to _why._"

Hands fisted at her sides, she growled frustratedly, "He won't _tell _me why!"

Tally stood up straighter, eyes sharp. "Use your brain, girl! Maybe he's not proud of his past! Maybe things happened in his past that he doesn't _want _to remember! Maybe it's painful for him! Good _God!"_

"I could help him!" Uzuki felt a tightness coil in her throat that made it hard to breathe or swallow.

"It looks like you haven't so far! What makes _you _think you'd be able to help _him?_"

She fought back an angry sob. "If he'd just—"

Tally interrupted. "It sounds like you asking him personal questions has only put a rift between him and you! Which would you rather have?"

"Him! Being honest! Trusting me!" Uzuki cried, tightly clutching at her shorts.

Silence settled in web-like swathes that got inside her lungs. For what seemed like a few frozen moments, Tally just stood there in her worn jeans and regarded the pale countertops. Uzuki blinked away cooling tears, breathing in through her nose as her fingers slowly turned yellow.

Tally's quiet voice penetrated the fabric between them. "Well, I just hope you didn't push him too far."

Uzuki's lips trembled, and all she wanted was curl up and let every Noise the world created pass over her and swallow her whole. "Me too."

* * *

><p>"Funny seeing you here," Spud chirped, hands perched on his waist like a modern, off-center Peter Pan.<p>

"Not really," Kariya said dully, "It's Ten-four. Everyone comes here."

"Seems like it, doesn't it?" Spud smiled boldly, looking the sort of refreshed Kariya wished he had the energy to want.

"Every day." Kariya carded a hand through his hair, and was noted by the boy to appear more careworn, as if he had reached the bottom of a hill he'd been sliding down for far too long. He was pale enough that his freckles stood out to the point where Spud could notice them. The five-foot-one shrimp next to Kariya's giant figure reckoned he'd take any connection to hold onto.

"I'm meeting Kazu," said Spud, a lot more tentative than he came off as. His feet gave a bit of that away, scuffing at the ground and shifting weight from the left to the right.

Kariya's coffee eyes looked down into Spud's, tired. "Did I ask?"

Spud cracked a grin with a carefree laugh. "Did I ask you to?"

"No."

"I can tell you what I want. You don't have to listen if you don't want to," Spud told him, still spirited, though he felt like Kariya was on the verge of walking away any minute.

Kariya conceded, rubbing at his arms, then shoving his hands in his pockets. "That's true."

Spud was developing a persistent desire to see how long he could get Kariya to stay in the same area as him. Kariya had been obliged to stay the first day, but this time, he could very well make a run for it. "What are you doing here?"

Swallowing, Kariya said, "Haircut."

Spud, like everyone else in the world, thought this fairly normal. "Cool," he said, and Kariya nodded, then began to make his way to Spud's left.

"Hope your friend's doing alright," he said, to which Spud responded with, "We'll see, won't we?"

Confirmative noise, and the Harrier was gone. Spud looked after him, barely noticing Kariya's shiver. Was it revulsion? Laughter? Was he c—

"Looks a bit like me," said someone, and Spud turned heel to find Kazutaka, standing steadily at his own right elbow. Alive again and sane, Kazu had obtained the rightful tinge of life at his cheeks and the tranquility that he had never otherwise put off. Spud grinned, relief clearing the weight blocking some of the energy in his bloodstream. He had done something right for once.

"Naw, you look great," Spud assured him, gesturing at his companion's face.

Kazu blinked his pale brown eyes just as Kariya turned a corner out of their sight. "I meant before. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

Spud's smile turned faint, and he sighed. "We both came out better for it."

A brief spell of silence fell over the two boys, but not the whole of the 104 building. Layers and layers of shops still buzzed with conversation, sharp with brighter expressions, and people moved around them like a river around a rock. Kazu nudged Spud's shoulder, causing him to look up at him. He was smiling gently, and Spud immediately responded with genuinely pleasant one. "It's nice seeing you happy," Kazu said.

Spud nodded vigorously. "Same to you. How's your family?"

Kazu chuckled, breathing a long exhale through his nose. "It's... They claim it's a miracle. Apparently I was in a coma? Or something? Completely bizarre, whatever it is. In any case, they're having a hey-day. My mom just about had a hernia about letting me come here alone." He crossed over to sit on one of the chairs between shops, moving behind a group of whispering girls. Spud followed a step behind and let his eyes follow the back of the girls' heads.

"Hey, Kazu? Guess what I just realized." Dragging his gaze away from the girls, he threw himself into the chair across from his friend and slouched back.

Kazutaka leaned forward on top of the table and pursed his lips, making a weave of his fingers. "I hope it's not that you've made the wrong decision," he said calmly.

"Does it look like that's what I'm thinking?" Spud asked with a fascinated grin. "'Cuz it's not."

Kazu shrugged and propped his chin on his fist. "Just checking."

"Fair enough," he replied, ruffling his hair so one end stuck out perkily. "It's just that I'll never grow taller, huh?"

Appearing moderately surprised by this thought, Kazu blinked a few times before a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Well, only fools see it as a handicap," he told him, sniffing and straightening his spine.

Spud disregarded this with a wave of his hand. "Not the point." He patted the table like it was a document stating the _real _point. "It's still an aspect of social interaction and regard."

Kazu looked up at the ceiling far above, then back down at the tufty Reaper. "But so is everything else," he said thoughtfully. "I get what you're saying, but it's not as if something about anyone will ever escape social scrutiny. We're judged every day." He smirked. "Just let them _think_ being short is your defining characteristic."

Rubbing at his nose and smiling bigger, Spud's eyes crinkled. "Sure."

* * *

><p>"You're hair's coming in brown."<p>

"I know," Uzuki said, voice still a little hiccup-y. She rubbed at the back of her head and blinked until her eyes didn't feel so dry anymore. "I've got to recolor it."

"A different color?"

"No, I'm fond of pink." She tucked her legs up onto the couch so that she could hug them, the walls around her staring at her as she closed her glassy eyes. "But maybe I'll go a little lighter."

Tally sighed, tugging at her shirt front until words came back to her. "Well, as much as I don't mind you here, I'm not much of a socialite."

Uzuki pressed her lips to her knees and felt bloodless and empty. "Are you saying that as fact, or are you telling me I should leave?" she asked her legs.

"If I really wanted you to leave, I'd say so," said Tally. "I don't really care what you decide to do. I'll just have you know that I won't put up an effort to please you." To prove her point, she crossed the room with her glass of water, now half-empty, to pick up a book sitting on the window sill.

"That sounds fine," Uzuki said, just so Tally would know her position. "I'd like to keep moping."

"You do that."

Tally disappeared behind the door to her bedroom and left the Officer on the couch to achieve her most current desire. Uzuki, still not bothering to open her eyes again if she could help it, fell sideways so she was curled up against the cushions and willed herself to fall asleep. As a few people had figured out in their time knowing Uzuki Yashiro, her mind was not very open to suggestion. So she stayed like that, breathing in through her nose to stop the tears. She went through a dozen scenarios of what Kariya was doing or thinking, all just as futile as they had ever been. Two years, and she still didn't know how his mind worked, let alone her own mind (and she had a considerably more expansive time to get to know hers). The one thing she had figured out for herself, however, was that all those stupid songs were true. Just the mere possibility of losing him as a companion awakened her emotions into a desperate sense of loss. She loved him in so many more different ways than she had ever paid attention to, and her body threatened to become an empty husk at the thought that she may have ruined everything.

_Would it kill you to be sensitive?_

Apparently.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **_Two more chapters after this (this one is the longest), and I'll be posting them all today. One right now. The next one sometime between three and six hours from now. The last one (which is by far the shortest) sometime around six hours from then.  
>Thank you for reading and happy new year!<em>

* * *

><p>Chapter 6<p>

"Who knows what true loneliness is - not the conventional word but the naked terror? To the lonely themselves it wears a mask. The most miserable outcast hugs some memory or some illusion."  
>Joseph Conrad<p>

"Are you sure?"

"So sure. Do it."

"Positive?"

"To infinity. I'm serious."

"How serious?"

Kariya laughed at his own face, sickly freckles and all. Minori stood behind him, her comparatively very unsure expression clearly shown in the mirror. Her narrow eyes flickered to the scissors in her hand and she brushed back her hair as she took a breath. She was preparing herself for his conclusion because she'd take it, this time.

"Serious as suicide," Kariya told her, eyes glimmering like unstable testaments.

Minori flushed, eyes widening, and he knew he had seriously distressed her. "Don't say that!" she cried. The hairdresser two seats down from them shot her a look as he swept up clumps of platinum hair.

"Are you okay, Koki?" she whispered earnestly, and he felt immensely guilty for the panicked pain trembling in her hands.

He sighed and rubbed at his face. "I'm alright, Minori. Just do this for me."

There was a pause, and then she said adamantly, "I'm not cutting it all off."

Kariya conceded with a bob of his head. "Fine." He swiped at his nose, impeding a drip of water, and leaned back in his chair. "Just most of it."

He kept his eyes closed while the scissors snipped and her fingers tickled the nape of his neck. His thoughts drifted idly, primarily absent of any real concerns and forcefully empty of any self-indulgent pity. After all, what good had any of it done? He was fairly content with disarming cynicism.

"Looks like your hair gets curlier the shorter it is," said Minori softly.

"It does," Kariya confirmed without even needing to open his eyes. With that, his stomach twisted and he felt the color blanch from his skin. "Doesn't it?" His eyes cracked open and he took a deep breath. He didn't remember, but yes, it was curlier. It looked as if his hair was untidily impersonating orange-tipped flames, but it made him smile despite the isolated feeling of the need to vomit.

"Yes," she told him. "Look alright?"

"Quite. Thank you." He brought his hands out from under the smock and ran them through the new cut. They were funny, odd little curls with a renewed personality. "Thank you," he repeated.

She blushed and unsnapped his smock, shaking away the straighter orange locks. "I think you look better without the drapes in front of your face."

Surprised by her bluntness, he was caught by a bright laugh. "It's different, that's for sure!"

Minori took a turn at lacing her fingers in his hair one last time, plucking fondly at the hairs curling at his forehead. "Well," She sighed, brushing her hands off on her apron. "you ought to go home and shower."

"Those pesky renegade hairs," Kariya said lightly, plucking at the back of his shirt. He gave her a brief smile, perhaps to reassure her that he wasn't as depressed as he was. Regardless, even acting the part made him feel better. "Until next time."

Minori nodded.

* * *

><p>Kariya did not run into Spud again on his way home by a narrow margin. It wasn't exactly that he was trying to avoid the titchy Support, but more that 'those renegade hairs' were really starting to get to him. He kept running his fingers through the locks, feeling briefly off-balance whenever there was no more hair to go through. He'd been wearing it the same for roughly as long as he'd worn the same skeleton hoodie, and he felt rather out of place. It was also quite refreshing, which had been his goal in the first place. As unused as he was to the idea of short hair, sleeveless shirts, converse, and shorts, it almost gave him an excuse to act differently.<p>

"Kariya?"

He froze, more shocked than he ought to have been. His hand retreated from the doorknob to his apartment complex. "Yo," he muttered quietly, practically cringing.

"Did you cut your hair?"

Turning to face Uzuki, he slipped his hands into his pockets and told her honestly, "No. I didn't."

She approached him far too quickly than what he was ready for. "Yes you have!" she said, as shrill as she sounded during a Game week. He could tell she was really just quite strained, as much as he wished he couldn't.

"I haven't," he insisted. "The hairdresser did." Both of them knew he was being unreasonably adamant about such a small thing, but for once, Uzuki held her tongue.

A breath made its way out of her forcefully, as if she had been punched in the gut. "It—" she began, then regained her ability to speak. "—it looks really different."

Kariya nodded, not sure exactly what he was supposed to do, let alone what he wanted to do. That last bit was a straight-up mystery. Uzuki started blinking quickly, and again, he wished he didn't know what that meant.

"Do you want to go for some ramen with me?" he asked quickly. He had to restrain his hands from immediately going to her face, or shoulders, or anything really. The thought of her crying turned his stomach into truly complicated knots and screwed up his brain functions even worse. She nodded in that pathetic way that tied the first knot. Oh God. "I'll pay," he said, and tried not to sound like he was desperate.

Carefully ushering her away from his apartment, he felt a bit miserable. Essentially, he was the one saying sorry here, and that simply proved that Uzuki Yashiro was a terrible weakness. He didn't really want to think about it.

"I like it," she said quietly, and Kariya was left in a blank space where she had interrupted his thoughts as they wove through the crowds.

"Like what?"

Her blue eyes, blessedly empty of tears, focused in on the top of his head. "Your hair."

"Oh," he replied awkwardly, "thank you."

"What made you want to change it?"

Despite the people swarming around them, a silence settled on top of him alone. "I don't want to talk about it." Her response, he was sure, would really not be welcome.

"Well that's just silly. If you didn't want—"

_"Yashiro, I swear to God."_

Her mouth closed abruptly, cowed. It had been a very long while since he had essentially and seriously told her to shut up. Two years or so, actually. She was a weakness, certainly, but he was very much inclined to push her far away from him. Perhaps all the way to France.

"Do you hate me?"

So caught off guard he was momentarily dumb, Kariya stared at her and then proceeded to ram his hip into a bench; his voice was found in a drowned hiss and warble of pain. He leaned into the back of the offending seat to gather himself.

Uzuki, surprised as well, made a shocked noise of sympathy, but refrained from touching him. Immediately, he realized he missed that.

He cleared his throat after a tearful gasp and shook his head. It was odd not to feel his 'drapes' touch his cheekbones "No." He ran his fingers searchingly through his hair, as if he felt he could cling to his thoughts, which were frustratingly absent overall. "I don't hate you." He managed to lift his eyes to her face, and her expression told him she was doubtful. _This girl._

"I don't!" he told her adamantly, and was vaguely irked that she obviously wanted some self-assurance that she wasn't a witch from Hell. Well, she was, and she'd have to accept that. "You're a nightmare, Uzuki Yashiro, but I do not hate you."

Her eyes blurred and she folded her arms. "Well that's just _wonderful_," she expressed piteously.

"Oh please," Kariya replied, and found himself rolling his eyes, still bent over the back of the bench. A pale, young teeager across the way was watching them with an aloof gaze, peering around Hachiko. Yes, he hated Uzuki crying, but _honestly_. And that kid needed to get a life. People watching was something dead fools did, not highschool slackers. "After this morning, you really want me to tell you that you're the epitome of lovely?"

That may have been the worst thing he ever could have said.

The way it often did when she got riled up during the games, her face scrunched up and turned lofty all at once, like her wrath was to descend upon him in a torrent of angry tears. He was aware of how literal that comparison could be.

This time, however, she just squeezed at her middle and just gazed at him like words had collected in her throat but refused to voice themselves. Kariya straightened uncomfortably, caught in the middle of agreeing with everything he said and regretting telling her in the first place. "Uzuki," he began, then shrugged with a sigh. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times; he shook his head. "Do you want ramen or not?"

She turned away from him fast enough that the discovery of people behind her made her stumble. Once upon a time, he might have willfully steadied her, and the reflex was still there. Instead, he followed her after she righted herself, and she stubbornly made her way to the Ramen shop. Her hands were clenched at her sides like grooved stones and he noted every inch of her frustrated shell, trailing behind her while she shoved her way past pedestrians. She needed to recolor her hair.

Despite himself, a soft fondness made its way to the forefront of his mind, and he slid past her just to open the door for her. The irritation this caused made the sudden effort worth it.

"I can open a door," she growled.

"So can I," he replied easily.

Her face turned murderous, and his own face reacted. A smile's shadow reached around his ribs and up through his airways, a surprise to the muscles of his face after so many spiritless exercises.

"Oh! Irasshai, you two!"

Kariya stepped away from the door, looking around to the counter. "Hello, Doi-san. It's been awhile."

Ken Doi wiped his hands on a towel and gestured them to sit at the counter table. "Unusually long, I'd say," the shop owner agreed.

Uzuki shot Kariya an irritated look before slipping up onto a stool, and propped her chin on her fist. She offered a smile to Doi, which he returned.

"Let me guess. Tonkotsu and miso?"

"Yes, please." Kariya, almost carefully, settled himself to Uzuki's right and pulled out his wallet. For a small moment, he fingered the picture of Jesse Cole, then resumed the action of pulling out ¥1430, a sum he had memorized over the years. He hesitated, however, in passing the money over. "Anything new?"

Ken Doi's eyes brightened and he folded his thick arms over his chest. "Been experimenting with a few ingredients. How'd you know?"

"Didn't," Kariya admitted.

"Want to be a taste-tester?" Doi offered cheerfully. "I'll shave off ¥230."

"Please," replied Kariya, and passed over the recalculated yen.

Doi turned to Uzuki and smiled again. He had openly expressed how bright Uzuki was, and that she was as lovely as riverside flowers. It was common procedure. "Still tonkotsu?"

She shrugged. "The only one for me."

"Ah, young love," he said, chuckling, and disappeared into the kitchens after passing the Reapers their chopsticks.

Kariya glanced around the shop, taking in the people sitting at tables, a few gazing out the street windows. A younger college girl was eating very quickly, eyes glued to the textbook propped up on her table. Another student looked like he might just fall asleep with his next bite. An old man took his time chewing every bit of every component, and looked content. A kid with her mother was fishing around for her favorite bits of meat as the mother typed rapidly away on her laptop. Kariya felt a painful, pathetic surge of grief and desire at the thought of family, school, life.

When a bowl of ramen was slipped between his own elbows, Kariya clicked the tips of his chopsticks together and investigated the ingredients. Egg, wakame, menma, green onion… Fairly simple, really.

"Is it the spices that are different?" Kariya questioned, looking up at Ken Doi.

"Yes, yes, and other things. It's a traditional shio base. Try it and tell me what you think."

Obediently, and vaguely aware that Uzuki's eyes were on him, Kariya took a bite. He was pleased by the familiar taste of shio, but with a mild aftertaste of something more. Perhaps it was the oils. The noodles felt different. The chashu was done perfectly. He swallowed. His stomach cramped, protesting viciously. It was then that the nostalgia edged into his mind like a tattered silken cloth.

With a thoughtful hum that was trying to mask the urge to vomit, Kariya honestly supplied Doi with, "I like it. What's different?"

He played idly with the noodles of his ramen, stalling and hoping for Ken Doi not to notice that he wanted to be sick as the shop owner enthusiastically described the changes. Kariya was positive that a second swallow would make his innards riot, and with a reaction like that, he was also positive he wouldn't be able to finish it fast enough.

The issue was that after days of not eating, a body did not react well to food.

Ken Doi took a breath, then noticed he still hadn't gotten Uzuki her tonkotsu ramen. "Oh! I was rambling. Forgive me, miss Yashiro."

Loftily, playfully, Uzuki waved him off. "You have my forgiveness," she said, and as soon as he retreated to the kitchens, she turned on Kariya. "You too afraid to tell him you don't like it?"

Kariya cringed, splitting his thoughts in two- one strain was occupied in responding to her brusqueness, and the other was a weak attempt to think of what to do with the ramen in front of him. He couldn't eat it without getting sick. He couldn't insult Doi. Ramen wasn't something he could order to-go- it just wasn't proper or reasonable. He couldn't tell Uzuki yes. He didn't want to tell her why it wasn't so. He certainly couldn't knock his ramen all over her as an excuse and then wave off the shop owner's offers to make him more. That would be wrong. Still, he was tempted.

So he told the truth. "I honestly just don't want to eat right now," he said, and continued to wonder what he should do with his ramen. He couldn't fit it all in an empty water bottle, could he?

"Says the man who could eat three hotdogs in one sitting and still be hungry," she scoffed, leaning forward onto the counter and shaking her head.

"That," said he, "is not as impressive as you think."

Her eyes narrowed and she scratched at the nicked marble under her elbows. "Coming from you, that argument is highly invalid."

Kariya meant to retort, although in the end he likely would not have whether Ken Doi had come out of the kitchens or not.

As the shop owner slid Uzuki's tonkotsu between her elbows with the practice of several years, Kariya took a breath, organizing his thoughts. But no. What could he say? With his stomach cringing, he picked up his chopsticks again.

Doi's hands stilled and he raised his thick eyebrows until they brushed his hachimaki. "Are you well?" he asked Kariya, and he had never felt so relieved in his life.

"I'm feeling ill," Kariya admitted, choosing his words carefully, "and I'd like to enjoy this because it tastes wonderful. But-" His chopsticks clicked in his pathetic wish for eloquence.

The reactions were frowns twofold, though of a different type. Ken Doi was concerned and responded with, "You do look a bit pale. Can I get you something else? You can return some other time."

Grateful, Kariya nodded with a polite request for water whilst trying to deflect the opinions Uzuki was radiating. Her frown was judgemental with slight reproach. He knew that she was wholly unconvinced, and he was ready to bet her antagonism that day had nearly nothing to do with ramen and almost everything to do with how he had hurt her. No, she hadn't hurt him. This, of course, was all his fault.

A sigh reached out from within him unbidden, far more expressive than he wanted Uzuki to hear. He ran with it.

"Would you stop?" He managed a pleasant undertone despite his seriousness, but refused to look at her like he was naturally inclined to.

"Stop what?" She was much more caustic.

There was an infinite amount of answers to that question that were equally unable to provide a solution. Stop hounding me. Stop thinking only of yourself. Stop trying to figure me out. Stop ruining my life. Stop being you. Stop me from ever accepting to showing you "the ropes".

"Stop acting all... revolted with me." That had not been the word he was looking for, but staring at his fingers gave him no hints.

"Don't tell me what to do," she shot back, and as usual, her words were like an atomic blast. He settled his head on his arms to fend off the offense and watched the noodles dissolve in the broth until Doi came with his cup of water. Kariya nursed the glass like a tumbler of alcohol, keeping his eyes on the far wall as Uzuki attacked her ramen.

When his water was half gone, Uzuki set her bowl down with a thoughtfulness that Kariya could recognize.

"I'm done."

_So am I._

He left his glass on the counter and regretfully left his ramen on the counter. "Okay."

When they left through the door, Ken Doi bade them a mutual farewell, and it was just a few feet before Uzuki latched onto Kariya's elbow.

"Can I talk to you?"

"Yes."

She didn't follow through. She simply tightened her fingers around his arm and he was left to wonder if her question had been simply for her own comfort. He wasn't completely wrong.

Past several shops, Uzuki stopped, and thus dragged him to a stop as well. She sighed, and Kariya continued to resist eye contact.

"I'm sorry."

Only then did his gaze collide with hers and once again, he felt like telling her to leave him alone. Whatever she thought she was doing, it wasn't an apology. This was her trying to win.

"For what?" he wanted to know. What was she ever sorry for?

"I just… I'm sorry I pushed you too far."

Kariya continued to look at her face- not her eyes, but her nose or hairline or cheekbones.

"Kariya?"

"What?" he responded mechanically.

"I want to know how I can help you."

If he told her why he was tripping over himself, falling to his knees like a frightened boy, scraping his palms and breathing until he bled… He wondered what she could possibly do. She would likely think it a joke. He'd seen that already.

"I'm not ready to deal with you right now," he told her, and felt her recoil slightly from his choice of words.

"Deal?" she echoed. "Am I really only that?"

He looked down into her for what he planned to be the last time that day. "Am I really only a puzzle, Uzuki, for you to figure out?" _You will only ever find the edges._

"You're a friend!" she protested.

"I'm a curiosity," he translated, and withdrew from her.

A panic bloomed in her eyes like wind-torn cornflowers. "You're broken," she plead, "and I don't know how to fix you!"

"Neither do I," he admitted, though her words had felt like he had just taken down Mrs. Ida's clothesline.

She watched him with her mouth open, like she had never before seen him. She must have seen how his hands shook, his paleness, how he was wasting away, chapped lips, red eyes, grey sleeplessness.

He was approaching the Sakura tree

"Koki," she gasped. "Tell me."

and with a horrible, lurching realization, the wire rested against his throat.

"I can't," he told her, and it tasted like the world had just sharpened. His breath felt like a rubber tube collapsing. "I don't remember anything."

* * *

><p>"I'm done," she told him sharply.<p>

"Okay."

He left the glass half empty on the marble counter, apologizing to Ken Doi until he had nothing else to say.

The door closed behind them.

He turned right, and she turned left.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_For those of you who don't know (I didn't until I looked it up), ramen noodles often don't last very long once they're put in the broth (around 5 minutes). That's why everyone eats it so quickly and why Kariya can't ask for it to-go, here._


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **_Didn't mean to be late. My brother spirited me away for a short time._

* * *

><p>Chapter 7<p>

"The worst type of crying wasn't the kind everyone could see-the wailing on street corners, the tearing at clothes. No, the worst kind happened when your soul wept and no matter what you did, there was no way to comfort it. A section withered and became a scar on the part of your soul that survived."  
>-Katie McGarry<p>

Joshua understood rain. Really, all it was was the heavens getting sick of all the wee humans down below and drawing the curtains. This is why so many looked out the window and drooped. The fact is: when rain falls, everyone is alone.

Joshua understood rain. He was always alone.

Being stuck within the confines of only one mind - and not only one, but the mind one is never without - held an aspect of a terrible loop. Rain falls, it runs away, it becomes invisible, it accumulates, it falls. Only his rain never ceased. It flooded him from the bottom to the top.

Perhaps this is why he decided, "To Hell with being alone."

His decisions never amounted to anything. Steeling himself to visit Neku was something he had done, but never gotten past. He'd walked to Hachiko, lost heart, and sat down just in time to witness two of his own pull farther on the tension between them.

In truth, Joshua had been expecting Koki Kariya to break for months. The incredible aspect was that he had forgotten that Koki Kariya was already broken and had always been so since he had hung himself from that tree. The gruesome bit was that Joshua could still see that impossible red rash around the Reaper's neck. Joshua, himself, could still see the thin puckered flesh on his wrists through the glow of his own skin. They were the small scars of fate, and almost completely invisible.

When Joshua had asked Kariya if he wished to be an Officer, he had been looking at that thin imperceptible line around Koki's throat, for it was raw and agonizing. Years ago, it had been nearly impossible to find.

So he was wholly unsurprised when Koki Kariya did visit, though it still burnt him in a way he no longer found pleasure. Neku had rid him of most sadistic tendencies, actually.

But Koki Kariya would not visit for a few days more.

Joshua held out a palm and allowed the rain to kiss his skin. _The kiss of death_, he thought, and grimly saw that red line.

* * *

><p>As every memory was snatched out from between his pleading fingers, the ones that were left became more precious. It was a decaying circle of misery that soon would become a single, solitary point.<p>

In a way, he felt like just the very outer skin of who he once was, and everything was emptying from a level of full, at the top of his head, to the summation of nothing, at the soles of his feet. His being was the only fragile memory he had left, the pale afterimage of the sun behind the eyelids, and he had no energy remaining to hope that this, at least, would refrain from dissolution.

Most people, he realized, had a reason for living. What he had was the very reason to die.

* * *

><p>Uzuki was hardly up to trying again. Her body was sick and her eyes felt like marbles of a dry desert. She was done, up to her elbows in hurt and was sure that if she plunged in once more, she'd be drowning.<p>

Stumbling home, she was angry. Sitting on her bed, she began to cry- though it took a lot more. The tears come from something else (and had to come from somewhere else because her eyes were a well empty of any solution). They were dry, sobbing heaves because _god dammit _she had messed up again. She was nightmare, and she felt like one, in one, lost in one.

She screamed into her bedsheets, and it was nothing her ears had ever heard before.

She was losing him.

It was happening so quickly, too.

And he had cut his hair.

She pressed her fingers to her mouth, white as a bruise, and heaved another sob.

He had cut his hair and it had meant something.

She was losing not only him, but the man she had always known.

When she had become a Reaper, there was an indefinite shift upon her meeting him face-to-face. Though she had not known it, she had fallen in love with him then, because even his rebuttals to her insistences had made her feel like there was something more. He was a source of encompassment- an assurance that while she was only one, she had an impact. She was bigger than herself.

He was more to her than that, however. He was there to support, to smile, to pull her back, and though he was taller than her, better than her, calmer than her, she understood him.

Until now.

Two more days until the biggest moment of her life and all she could do was grip at her sheets and cry.

* * *

><p>"I think I can look mature if I choose to be," said Spud, tearing sweet pieces of milk bread away from the small loaf and letting it almost dissolve on his tongue.<p>

"Are you still on about that?" replied Kazu, unpinning his bangs and sitting back on the couch, ankles crossed. He had come by to celebrate the luck of finding a decent apartment (decent being increasingly relative) on his fifteenth go for quite a decent price. They did this by using the kitchen, which Kazutaka claimed to have quite a knack for. Spud saw that his claim was not unfounded despite the condition of his appliances.

"It was a loss I hadn't considered," said Spud in a lightly melancholy way. He nibbled at the buttered crust as he took a seat next to him. The old oven had tainted it only slightly with the taste of tomato paste, though it was not the worst addition Spud could think of.

Kazu reached across to grab a chunk of the loaf and Spud let him. "You'll find some girl shorter than you and it won't even matter."

Wrinkling his nose, he shook his head. "Not likely."

Kazu shrugged then. "Well, everyone must have given up something. It's not like your family wouldn't notice you're immortal." With a small pause, he looked down at the upholstery. "This is a hideous couch."

"There are other things than family. Thank you."

"Evidently- that was my point. You're welcome."

Spud smirked. "Besides, the apathy between girls and me is mutual."

"Oh?" Again, Kazu reached for bread, but took the rest of the loaf instead.

With a shrug, Spud stood to retrieve a second loaf. "I'm bread-sexual."

"No." Kazu laughed. "Stop. That's disgusting." He stuffed the rest of his portion in his mouth after a rapid shake of the head and stretched himself out over the other half of the hideous couch. He had the leanness of a runner and the skin tone of a mediterranean street urchin scouring the beaches under the sun. He was so slightly asian around his wheat eyes and flat cheekbones.

"See, but it's comfortable." Spud gestured to the couch.

"And if you squint, it's the color of crap."

"You're abusive."

Kazutaka grinned and moved his feet to allow Spud some portion of room after he set the loaf down on the coffee table. His freckled arms against Kazu's shins was like the brief clotting of pigment on a canvas of skin.

The rain just outside his dinky windows turned into a downpour, spilling across the glass in a transparent and grey mire. Whatever sun was attempting desperately to blaze through the thick sheet of cloud cover made shadows of the rain on Spud's scratched wooden floors, constantly falling and dripping.

"You know what I'm afraid of?" Spud said slowly, his odd freckled lips pursed white.

"Death?" Kazu replied faintly, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt but eyes trained on the ceiling.

Spud wrinkled his nose and let his own fingers wander, twisting the hairs curling along Kazu's legs. "I think I'm alright."

A quick glance assured Kazu that Spud wasn't about to pluck him. "I think I'd die the next time. Properly." He gnawed at his lip and winced as he reopened a split. "Theoretically." Quickly, he sat up and was somewhat demanding in the request for eye contact. Spud obliged and met his dark semolina eyes. "But what are you afraid of?"

"I almost didn't know that I had gotten my fee back." His voice held a vague tremolo to it and he removed his hands to clasp at each other instead. "Sadness is one thing but I can't _handle _depression. I can't."

Kazu's eyes narrowed thoughtfully and doubtful. "Depression doesn't seem like something anyone can handle, exactly. How can anyone handle a lack of effective emotion?" The corner of his lip quirked downward. "I mean, damn. Emotions are hard. I couldn't handle too _many_." He continued to gnaw at his lip and tucked his feet under Spud's legs so he could bend his legs farther and sit closer. "But you're saying it's more of a psychological thing for you? You didn't know, so it seems like happiness is a decision for you currently. Is that so off-putting?"

Silently, Spud took in breath by breath, eyes resting on the dip between Kazu's clavicles. "When you put it that way," he said quietly, and drifted off.

"Perspective, Spud." Kazu raked his hair back out of his eyes. "That's all we can do sometimes." He added hastily, "Not that I'm preaching."

Spud struggled with a smile. "Get out, you damn priest," he muttered, then sighed. "You just made it sound easier."

"I reckon," Kazu said slowly, "we make things too difficult for ourselves sometimes. We overcomplicate."

"It's a process," Spud suggested.

"Preach."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **_Well, here you go._

* * *

><p>End<br>"In the end we're all just chalk lines on the concrete  
>Drawn only to be washed away<br>For the time that I've been given  
>I am what I am"<br>― Five Finger Death Punch

Seeing the picture of Jesse Cole had been an accident.

Kariya had a single drawer that he threw all the dangerous things in. Gently. A small parcel labeled in black, splotchy ink with "DO NOT LOOK" had made its way into his hands after sifting through a pile of CD's. It had been an accident how on the way to sliding it into that small drawer, Jesse Cole slipped out with a desperate flutter, a small square on his bedroom floor. She stayed under his bed until the very last day, when he picked her up with some measure of bafflement and was promptly, devastatingly, painfully crushed by the sudden gaping hole in his heart.

Jesse Cole, mother to the strawberry-blonde, coffee-eyed, quiet, pleasant, brilliantly sad Koki Kariya ceased to exist. Kaemon Kariya followed with a silent shot in the shadows, escaping his memories as swiftly as oxygen left the bloodstream.

The artful, rough knuckles and brisk fingers of Kaemon Kariya, drawing every quiet moment and smiling every other. The gentle quirk of Jesse Cole's telling eyes and staccato steps.

Only God knows if Koki had a brother, sweet around the nose and pointed around the chin. Or a sister with tangled, knotted hair and tangled, knotted emotions as bright and complicated as the stars before science.

The mornings waking up to silently brown bedroom eyes were passing into the aether. The sunlight splayed across sheets and smooth skin and pale freckles flickered out in the bitter winds. Motherly embraces and patient old bedrooms and mud-covered knees were sloughed away in shattering webs.

And all Kariya could do was slowly, gently, silently curl up at the foot of his cold bed and breathe into his pale fingers.

* * *

><p>In the morning, shadows of forced wakefulness and agonizing delirium found him opening the door to a new face.<p>

"I'm so sorry," the woman said, and tucked a pale pink strand of hair behind her ear, away from red-rimmed eyes.

Koki stared at her, stretched, strained, pleaded to remember.

But all he could say was

"so am I."


End file.
